It's a dog's death

I was on my way to the bus stop to go into town for the pub quiz last night. I checked my phone when I got to the stop and because I'd been listening to my MP3 player playing Orcustus at full volume I'd missed a call on the walk. I checked further and saw that it was from that four eyed cunt Salter. Now, ever since that pretentious twat moved down south to Cornwall, he wants nothing to do with the ho-poloi back in the north, so I wondered what on earth he could be calling me for. I called him back and he didn't answer. Curiouser and curiouser, I mused, but let it go, even though the rage was boiling up in me. As I climbed aboard the bus that had just arrived I had the following text message conversation with him:

Him: Sorry, I was playing with the dog and it rang your number again [this outrage has happened before]. It's cos you're alphabetically the first name on the contact list. Would it be possible for you to change your name to avoid a repeat of this telephonic mishap in the future?

Me: I could, but I think we both know what the simpler alternative is. Buy it some real dog toys. Telephones are expensive electronic items and don't stand up to a dog's heavy handed use. Either that or have the dog put down.

Him: I've thought of an even simpler alternative. I've just entered a brand new contact on my list called AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. That should solve the problem. I wasn't sure what phone number to type in for this new contact though, so I just put in yours for the easiest. I hope that's OK.

Me: It may work, I'm still in favour of putting the dog to sleep. In fact I took the liberty of contacting Jaime [his wife] about this and she's in agreement. She's taking potty or whatever you call it to the vets tomorrow. 

I have been swimming over the last couple of weeks. I have been going with Kate and Ali, mostly so they can be my seeing eyes. With my bad eyesight, swimming is a fucking minefield, what with not being able to wear my glasses I am as blind as the proverbial mole. I went with Kate and Ali to stand at the either end of the pool so they can hit me on the head with a stick as I approach and indicate when to turn around. The first time we went, I groped my way into the lanes and got in the slow lane. I figured being fat and old it was probably the best place for me. The pool is divided up into slow, medium and fast lanes. It turns out, I was actually a bit faster than I initially thought and was passing drowning octogenarians like it was nobodies business. I decided to myself that I would swap lanes and announced such to Ali. I slipped under the rope into what I thought was the medium lane. This is where my failing eyesight let me down. Olympic swimmers and half-fish men were passing me at an alarming speed. I was floundering and bobbing about in their wakes, panic set in. I had inadvertently gone into the fast lane. I managed to get myself out just before Duncan Goodhuw slammed into me at breakneck speed. Lesson learned.

A little help?